


Scythian | Legends

by mycupoffanfiction



Series: Scythian [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycupoffanfiction/pseuds/mycupoffanfiction
Summary: The Reader recounts the last seventy years to her boys and explains how she became immortal.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: Scythian [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671238
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Scythian | Legends

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, I’ve mixed Scythian legend with fictional depictions of Amazon women in this part. I hope you enjoy this next part and you’re enjoying the series!

A quiet calm filled the room, a warm comfort, heart filled and swelled with the love you had ached and longed for all this time. Arms curled tightly around you, cold metal contrasted with warmth, though it wasn’t any less gentle but you could feel his hesitancy. Hushed I love yous, sweet words whispered against ears, gently dusting off the aged memories held deep below, repressed to cope with the pain.

None were the same without each other, none were the same with one or two missing and the broken portrait of three was slowly stitched back together with care and love. The ache was different between all three, for the blonde it was the pain of knowing you’d been alone, hurting and without your loves for seventy years. For the brunette it was the hurt of not knowing what he’d missed and what he couldn’t remember yet and for the one in the middle, held between two soldiers, it was the pain of a heart being slowly mended, the pain of lost time to make up for, the pain of the uncertainty and the years of repressed emotions that found their way to the surface.

The tears came, gentle embraces became tight and so full of desperate love, afraid to let go, afraid that if you so much as loosened your grip you might wake up and find it was all a beautiful nightmare. Fingers clung to them both, to their shirts, fingertips grazing over their skin, feeling the pulse and the warmth beneath, a reminder they were both there and they were more than old memories and aged photos.

Eyes met theirs, flitting between both with a watery haze and you begged with yourself not to wake up, not to leave, it was too good to be true and it didn’t feel real. It felt ethereal, like those times you had spent, stuck in daydreams, longing for Sergeant and Captain to return and scoop you up, hold you close like nothing had happened.

But now you could look at them, you could touch them, not like you had with your sketches and photographs, trying desperately to remember how they felt against your skin, how their voices sounded, how they spoke. Collapsing further, you found the grief you had struggled so hard to process swirling with the relief like smoke gently rising and creating bitter sweet patterns. It was beautiful, yet caused such pain.

The loss in you, the loss you felt of yourself with no one to turn to, no one to guide you back home and hold you close edged away, strong hands holding you with a tight grip, fingers denting soft skin, arms holding so tight. Tears soaked into shirts, onto skin and your cold, wet eyelashes fluttered against the bare arm in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” Was whispered against your neck, lips nestled tightly against your skin, gentle kisses pressing against you in a quivering flutter, nervous, shy, unfamiliar while so intimate and known. Held between the soldiers like something fragile, something so precious, something lost and subsequently found. “I’m so sorry I forgot.” The words came again, hot breath feathered against your soft skin and a sob convulsed through your chest, the ache in your throat, heart swollen, torn to pieces and pulled back together again with the golden, warm threads of love and care.

“It’s not your fault.” Your shaky, soft voice responded, only loud enough for them to hear, only loud enough for your Captain and Sergeant to understand the feelings trapped beneath. “I’m so sorry I thought you were gone.” Tears taking over, rendering you unable to get more words out, the things you wanted to say, that you longed for them to hear stuttered on your lips and stuck to your tongue.

“We’re here now, sweetheart, we’re together now.” Steve’s words soothed, softly and carefully relaxing you, Bucky humming and nodding in agreement. “We’re right here.” Bucky added, a soft kiss to your neck following his words, sealed against your skin like a promise.

You stood like that for a while, until you cried yourself out and your muscles grew tired from holding each of your soldiers with a loving, tight embrace, too afraid to let go for the longest time until you finally found the courage to allow yourself to, though you didn’t stray far.

“Tell us how it happened darlin’, how you’re still young.” Bucky’s voice was thickly toned, heavy and deep but so soothing and you nodded, feeling them both hold you between them, now relaxed on the couch, a blanket and hot drinks, things of comfort to calm the ache that still lingered and the uncertainty that they might disappear.

It had been an unexpected happening, something you had thought so simple to begin with. With the beginning of Shield and working alongside Peggy Carter, you had found yourself often responding and taking up reports of unusual happenings. With measured attention to detail and a mind in need of distraction, in need of something new without emotional distress and attachment, you became a curator of knowledge and immersed yourself in the unexplained oddities.

You worked a case and toiled away at the strange phenomenons found under each layer the deeper into it you went. You delicately picked it apart, unstitching the tightly woven lines. It was ancient, an artifact from far before your time and perhaps further. You dug deep, delicately working to uncover its origin and after months of tireless research and constant analysing each scrap of information you uncovered, after it had felt like an endless task, you reached your hypothesis. It was vastly disliked by those around you, judgement served in ways of looks and impertinent, uneducated remarks, but Peggy believed you.

The artifact had belonged to the lost civilisation of the Scythians and after further weeks of research, you devised your own plan to travel to a completely hypothetical location, which you believed to be the lost home of the civilisation.

The preparation hadn’t taken long and before you knew it you travelled through the Balkans and ventured further north still, circling the Black Sea. And while a non-assuming person could travel the same route and never find anything, your possession of the lost artifact welcomed you to their home, lost in time, separated from reality in their own time, hidden yet still visible to some, existing in another plain of existence almost.

Their god and father, Mars rewarded your bravery, your work, skill and tireless strength to return a piece of them to their home with the blessing of the Scythians, the same blessing Mars gave to his daughters, only you were given the ability to choose when your immortality ended. And so you accepted your reward, promising Mars and his daughters, the warrior women of Scythia that you would use your gifted time and enhanced abilities and strength to help those in need.

It was a tale few would believe, but your soldiers hung on every word, accepting it as truth as you spoke, eyes exploring the illustrations of the things you had seen, the Scythian civilisation that perhaps you were one of few or none at all to see it in centuries.

“What made you stay all of these years?” Steve asked as his fingers danced across the heavy sketchbook paper. You sat on Bucky’s lap, legs stretched across Steve’s, his free hand resting on your thigh as Bucky held you, metal arm and fingers hesitant to touch, but reluctant to let go.

“Something told me I would find you.” You explained, eyes meeting two different hues of blue, one lighter than the other, but neither possessed the icy chill or harshness you had seen just hours ago. The evening drew in, nearly seven hours had passed since your arrival and you didn’t plan to leave them, didn’t plan to ever part from them again, at least not in this lifetime and while you had lived so long without them, you would happily live another seventy years to make up for the lost time you had endured.

“Is that why you kept drawing?” Bucky asked, lifting the soft leather covered sketchbook held in his hand before flicking through the pages, his and Steve’s portraits and full pieces of art looking back at him. Bucky felt like he could feel the emotions you poured into those drawings, the way you had used your pencil and paints to transfer your feelings onto the pages. “Not quite.” You shook your head, watching as Steve turned your oldest sketchbook over, brows pinched together in a knotted frown as he studied the indented stamp of his name on the back of the leather cover.

Only seven pages at the start of the book were filled with his own art and yours soon followed, the half finished page that Steve had left before his departure met your own lines of equally delicate and well toned skill, though to him it felt as if he’d left that book at home in your care only weeks ago, rather than decades.

“Your old sketchbook was nearly empty, bar from those first pages. The longer I left it, the more it hurt to know you’d never fill it and it felt so wrong that the rest of the book was left untouched.” You explained. “I didn’t want to forget you and there was only so much that photographs could capture back then.” Your voice quietened, nervous about his thoughts on your continuation of his book, which had bled even further into so many books and you were sure you had drawn in at least sixty or seventy bindings of thick, textured pages, perhaps even more. “I didn’t want to let go.”

Bucky’s heart broke at your words and he pulled you close, feeling the change in your tone as you leaned into him, reaching for Steve as your lip trembled, wounds reopened and exposed. “Sweetheart,” Steve whispered, meeting your eyes as he reached up to gently caress your cheek, his arm around Bucky’s shoulders as he pulled himself closer to you both. “You did all of that, you kept holding on to us even when you thought we were gone?” The words came out quieter than Steve had expected and you nodded, tears spilling over the edges and gently rolling down your cheeks.

You felt the warmth of a calloused thumb gently wipe your tear away and Bucky leaned towards Steve so he could be closer and see you better. “I thought if I kept drawing you it would give me the hope and the reminder why I needed to keep going.” You explained. “Why I needed to keep fighting.”

“Baby doll, my sweet girl,” Bucky paused, holding you tighter as Steve leaned in to hold you and Bucky close and tight. “You don’t have to fight anymore, not if you don’t want to.” He reassured you, nose and lips dipping down to nudge against your cheek, leaving a gentle, warm kiss. “None of us have to, if that’s what you want, sweetheart.” Steve agreed, leaning in to press kisses to your cheek, lips slowly trailing down your neck as Bucky kissed you, both of them holding you and each other with a loving embrace.

“We got all the time in the world now, sweetheart.”


End file.
